


And If I Close My Eyes || Pompeii - Bastille

by Erin_Ravenseeker



Series: Set To A Tune [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Memories, Mild Language, My interpretation of lore, Panic, Songfic, i need to really look up the proper definition of that i guess, i think??, ooh look edits because sure why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 01:39:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9469736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erin_Ravenseeker/pseuds/Erin_Ravenseeker
Summary: This is an idea I had mid-2016 and I don't know if it's been done before.It's a collection of stories based around the structure and themes of songs. I choose a song that fits a character and write the story around the different lyrics in the song.I challenge you to guess the song if it hasn't already been guessed!*EDIT: OK SO Basically there's no constant schedule, if you hadn't already guessed, stuff will just happen when I am randomly struck by inspiration. Don't expect anything of me, you'll be severely disappointed.**EDIT 2: oooh look! I've actually decided to make it part of a series! thanks to the realisation of my everlasting hatred of works with a million tags and no specific fandom. SOOO now it's a oneshot and there will be other different works.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The song is Pompeii by Bastille. Guessed by [Theavalanche65](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Theavalanche65/pseuds/Theavalanche65)

He pulled his hat down just slightly so it covered his eyes.  
"About Blackwatch, huh?"  
A finger flicked at the lighter as he rolled the unlit cigar between his teeth. When the flame finally caught, he lit the cigar and took a deep breath.

 

_Jesse dodged down an alley, avoiding the loud spraying of bullets that echoed behind him. He sent a couple shots down the alley behind him as he ran along, following a couple of his buddies. That term was used relatively loosely, of course. They ducked through a low archway, taking the back street in the hopes of flanking their attackers._

_It was supposed to be a simple job, get the trucks from the supplier to the warehouse without losing anything. They’d chosen multiple sheltered routes through town, while still being time-efficient. They’d hijacked the traffic networks for speed through town without seeming suspicious. All of them should’ve arrived in the same place at the same time._

_But, as always, there were hitches in the plan. Unexpected occurrences that weren’t thought of, things that couldn’t slot efficiently into the carefully mapped-out strategy. There were a few points where the trucks would end up on the same roads, or be turning the same corners. Flaws like these were something they couldn’t avoid. And Jesse cursed this as he ran, taking note of a break in the gunfire followed by a booming explosion._

_Deadlock wasn’t his ideal of a fine life; it was the exact opposite. Instead of quietly enjoying his time in education or a comfortable house, he was shooting holes in people and running for his life nearly every job. So much so, it’s something he’s gotten quite talented at, actually. But this mission was different. Jesse doubted he’s make it out of here alive, especially knowing who’d attacked them._

_Overwatch. The international peacekeeping force formed to deal with the omnic crisis across countries. He didn’t have time to question why they were dealing with Deadlock instead, nor did he care. He just wanted to get out of here with the skin on his back, and if that meant killing every single one of them so be it._

_Now the tall, greyed buildings touched the sky around him, and the bricks beneath his feet shifted as the echo of boots sounded through the alleys. The spurs he foolishly kept on as part of his cowboy persona jangled when he hit the ground to hard, and quieting that was slowing him down. It had never occurred to him before that this might be an issue. Stupid, stupid Jesse._

_The three Deadlocks finally rounded the corner, looking at Overwatch’s back. There were bodies everywhere; both sides had put up a fight. The trucks were there too; there were three in total, two of them burning and the third stopped in a hurry. The three Deadlocks began to open fire on the attacking agents, and ducked under cover when they were noticed. They emerged in a brief break in the gunfire, and the one to Jesse's right, Markus, was shot dead. The Overwatch agents were approaching, and Jesse looked around for some sort of distraction or escape. He spotted a construction site to the left of the agents, with a heavy-looking stack of beams being held up by thick ropes. That was his chance._

_In the next short break of gunfire, Jesse shot three shots at one of the ropes holding the beams before ducking back to safety. He didn't see the beams swing and lurch towards a partly-constructed wall, nor the wall crash down on half of the Overwatch forces and one of the trucks, but he heard the smash as it toppled to the street and - hopefully - on top of most the Overwatch agents. When they started firing at him again, it sounded like there were about half the agents left. Jesse grinned as he and Carlos, the other guy with him, started to retreat to a better position._

_Until, that was, a shadow fell over Jesse. One that wasn't created by the buildings or environment around. He spun around and looked up to be smashed into by something and crash into ground. The world instantly went black._

"You could've been more gentle."  
"Nonsense."  
The voices were muted, and everything was fuzzy and blurred. Jesse was only aware he was lying down on something, and there were shapes looming over him.  
"Is he awake?"  
"Hey kid, you alright? Kid?"  
And black. 

 

"Not much to say, really. Got caught in an operation, and got our asses handed to us. Overwatch thought I was a pretty good shot, so they let me join," McCree fudged. It wasn't far off, anyway.

"And they just let you in?"

"Well, there was an interrogation, but it's not important."

 

_The hand whacked the back of his head, throwing it forward and making the headache from earlier resurface. The hand grabbed his hair, pulling his head up again._

_"Will you talk now?" The gruff, grating voice asked. Jesse frowned when the expected punch to the stomach didn't come. Right. This wasn't Deadlock. The hand dropped from his hair and he could feel the stare on his skin. It was different. This guy wasn't grinning maliciously, and he was only one man._

_Some interrogation. The room was grey, bare, only “decorated” with the flimsy table and chairs in the middle of the room, and the glass screen on one wall. He was sitting in one of the flimsy chairs now, the agent staring daggers into him. He could feel the sets of eyes watching him, measuring him up, deciding whether or not he was worth the effort. He couldn’t tell what they were thinking, though. The looks were measured on both ends, impossible to interpret. They were trained. For a moment he was glad for his time in the Deadlocks. Just for half a second._

_“How old are you kid?” the man sneered. Sharp, angry eyes bored into him again. More professional than he was used to, but that’s Deadlock for you. Jesse stared back unflinchingly._

_“Twenty-ish.”_

_A single raised eyebrow. The most noticeable reaction from him so far._

_“Who else is in Deadlock,” the man asked blankly. Jesse crossed his arms and shifted in the chair, holding his silence. Both glared at each other until a solid, hard boot came up to meet Jesse’s stomach, who doubled over breathlessly. **”Who else is in Deadlock,** ” the interrogator repeated, trying to sound more threatening._

_And all Jesse could think of was the beating he’d taken when he was being questioned during his Deadlock days, after he’d escaped from yet another prison. There was no mercy in a gang, after all. He’d been black and blue for days, and even then nobody trusted him until a month or two later, when the cops definitely hadn’t followed them. And they called **this** an interrogation._

_Laughter bubbled sickly in his throat, and he raised his head to meet the stare of his interrogator. Gabriel Reyes, it hit him, that was the name he was looking for. He grinned at the man smugly, and then a hand was drawn back and slapped over his cheek._

 

_The slap burned almost as bad as the fire did, but stung a little more so._

_“You fucking idiot,” Reyes was scolding him now. “Why the **fuck** would you do that?” All Jesse could do was rub his stung cheek and hiss as the medic begrudgingly treated his minor burns._

_“Answer me dammit! What were you thinking!?” his mentor growled. “You **are** aware running into burning buildings can **KILL YOU** , right!?” He was absolutely livid. Jesse had never seen him so mad before. After a moment of silence the medic left, seemingly finished for now._

_“Honestly,” Reyes continued in a lowered voice, “thanks to your idiocy and stubbornness you almost died, and then we’d have lost the best sharpshooter we have.” This was the closest to a compliment someone could ever get from this man, and for a moment Jesse felt honoured. “So what the fuck were you thinking?”_

_It took a moment to think about, but Jesse finally decided on what he wanted to say. He raised his eyes and gave Gabriel a tired, lopsided grin._

 

_**“I don’t want to repeat the mistakes I made in Deadlock.”** _

 

_He really should stop drinking. Honestly. Drinking made you spill feelings you didn’t even know you had, which is a terrible thing. Even if you mumbled them to nobody in particular. Plus, Jesse’d always been a forgetful drunk._

_The recent confrontation, however, left an sour feeling in his gut. It had been with a few of his old Deadlock buddies, after all. The look on Bruce’s face as it crashed into the mud. That look of betrayal, surprise, and hate. It hit too close to home, turning on the only family he’d had in a long while._

_No, there was nothing good to say about it. He didn’t want to remember those days where he was a thoughtless criminal, a young idiot._

_There was a short, sharp laugh from beside him._

_“I remember the last time you said that,” Reyes responded, sitting down at the bar. He ordered a drink, giving Jesse a pat on the back. It wasn’t clear whether it was meant to be reassuring or not, but that was enough._

_Jesse finds himself not drinking any more that night._

 

“What about actually being **in** Overwatch? Wasn’t it hard?”

“Eh, there were a few tough times, but mostly it was camaraderie that came with the job,” McCree shrugged. “Although, that sometimes came and went.”

 

_And all at once he was too much like his father. The father who’d loved him at a young age, taught him to shoot at eight, and shown him the ultimate gunslinger’s trick. The ace up your sleeve in any shootout._

_The pose had come easily, from memories of that father modelling, sculpting him into the focus point. Eyes sharpening, calculating, finding the weakest, most vulnerable point on their enemy. And the loud proclamation that was both warning and ritual - “it’s high noon” - a focus phrase to channel the energy. For a moment the world would still, wind howling and stopping at the same time, the dust settling in the air._

_Everything he had, put into a volley of shots._

_The sideways looks from teammates were hard to ignore. Supposed allies, staring suspiciously. Of course they would. They had a right, too. He could fire more shots than were even loaded in the gun, and with deadly precision._

_But the suspicious looks were enough to remind Jesse of all the times he’d used Deadeye in the Deadlock gang, too. All the innocent people he’d killed, just because of some lousy membership in a gang. All those people could’ve lived better lives than he ever would now._

_Jesse was not one to struggle with immorality. Or, at least, he hadn’t been. Now it was too easy to think of everything he’d done wrong, how many horrible acts he’d committed. And it wrenched his heart and put a sick feeling in his stomach. One he wasn’t used to, but very quickly coming accustomed to drowning in alcohol. Thank god for those anti-hangover meds._

_There were too many thoughts, thoughts of everything he’d done wrong, not to get lost and caught up in them. It was too much._

 

“But… well, I wasn’t the only one who sometimes had a falling out with someone.”

 

_The streets were pretty nice. Fairly modern buildings intermingled with old ones, from the 30’s or so. Practically ancient. That one over there had a nice façade, though, and was that a sweet shop? Angela said something about Swiss chocolate being the best. The local temperature was bloody freezing, though. That was one thing Jesse **didn’t** miss about the states._

_And amongst the happy day-to-day chatter of the locals, there was a sudden, ear-splitting boom that echoed off the walls and momentarily deafened everyone. Several screams came up from the crowd. Jesse gained his hearing quick enough to catch the loud honking of a car horn behind him, and dodge out of the way of a swerving vehicle. He sat on the ground where he had landed, breathing heavily and staring at the wreckage of the ex-car, which had crashed into the sweet shop._

_He watched as the passenger pushed out, coughing. He could see the driver. There was blood dripping down the man’s head, and all that could be seen from his eyes was white as his head hung motionless._

_The people around were already helping Jesse up, asking questions, getting fussy. He waved them off. He didn’t understand German. Several others were pointing, gasping, saying things, words he couldn’t understand. The indication of pointed fingers was clear enough._

_A great cloud of smoke billowed up over the rooftops, already high into the sky, from the direction he had been coming from. A panic started bubbling inside Jesse. That was the direction of the Swiss Overwatch base._

_Before he could think, his legs were already pumping him closer to the cloud. It must’ve been an explosion, and if it was at the base-_

_There were too many people, so much talking, shouting, getting louder and all falling on deaf ears the closer he got to there-_

_So much rubble, and ash, and the air burned in his lungs as he got there. Everything was destroyed, some still flaming, oh god there’s nothing left and-_

_He hadn’t even been gone that long, how many people were still in there when he left? A hundred at least, had anyone gotten out in time, were they all-_

_Hands in the rubble now, burning, searing pain, pulling it away, desperately grabbing, maybe someone was still alive, just under this pile-_

_Sirens, distant, how long did it take to get here, how many people died in the time it took to run-_

_A patch of blue vest, standard issue, stained red, more digging, blood, blood everywhere, he’s dead, find the next-_

_The sun completely blocked out by the smoke and ash, burning darkness from above, keep going, someone has to be alive-_

_Who would do this, why would they ever destroy the base, throat scorched and searing, keep digging, there has to be something-_

_Cool hands around him, pulling him back, no, maybe someone’s still alive-_

_A mask over the face, helps breathing, calming words he can barely hear over the heartbeat in his ears._

_The voice of Angela Ziegler._

_Tears, but whose? Hers, his, both? Deep breaths, heart slowing down. Nobody could have survived, it’s not possible. Sad, broken words. Whose? He can’t tell. Everything slowing down. Everything stopping at this one moment, with the base they’d loved flattened in front of them, half-walls crumbling down, and so many people dead. Time seemed to stop._

_At least **someone** made it out alive._

 

“Anyway, that’s neither here nor there,” McCree shrugged, pushing away from the bar (ditching the new recruit he was talking to) and going to sit down on the couch. A minute or two later of blankly watching the television, Lena flopped down next to him.

“Howzit goin, love?” she asked.

“Jus’ fine, how ’bout you?” he replied.

“Great!” she grinned, turning her attention to the tv. McCree closed his eyes and leaned his head back. _"Most recent mission got me pooped, though! Good t’have a break!”_

_“I agree. Coffee here’s pretty good too.”_ That had got a laugh, he remembered.

_“‘Course! We only get the finest!”_ Talking to him like he wasn’t a criminal. She wasn’t fazed by those things. He’d found it strange.

_“Where you from?”_ He’d kept talking, wanting to keep the moment going. It was on this same couch, too. It felt so similar now, too, so much the same, even though everything was different now.

“Y’alright love? Ya frowning there,” Lena asked giving him a concerned look.

“Yeah, jus’ thinkin’,” McCree shrugged back with a grin. She grinned back, then her attention went to a conversation being had by a few people behind them. McCree closed his eyes again.

_“Honestly, I thought you were only useless **on** the field, but you can’t cook at all! And no, Jack, **salt is not a spice!** ” Ana said. Lena clapped her hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing, and failed miserably._

_“It **is!** Spices flavour things, salt flavours things, therefore it’s a spice!” Jack argued. Lena almost fell off the couch laughing._ Like nothing had even changed, he thought. Long before the Swiss… incident. Reminded him of happier days.

_“I am so much more disappointed in you now, Jack,” Reyes sighed._

McCree woke up on the couch alone.

“Happy days be damned,” he muttered.

 

_Jesse fancied himself familiar with all types of pain. Well-versed in the halls of torment. But this sort was new._

_It lodged itself deep in his chest and grasped his heart and lungs, squeezing down on them, twisting, making his hands shake and his eyes prick. Emotional attachment was something he’d learned to let go of since he joined Deadlock, but Overwatch had been like a new family to him, a **real** family, and…_

_Now the bright, clear skies and flourishing greenery felt wrong in the sombre atmosphere. The birds chirping cheerfully did nothing to lift the crushing feeling he was sure had fallen across everyone here._

_Overwatch generally wasn’t much for funerals, at most a gravestone for the family, but they'd have been damned not to hold one now. The last hurrah of the two greatest leaders, like fathers of the family… or the stupid uncles._

_John “Jack” Morrison and Gabriel Reyes._

_Sniffling and sobbing all along the procession. Words spoken for the two heroes. The constricting feeling in Jesse's chest getting stronger, tighter, more painful. He wouldn’t cry, but damn if it wasn’t hard not to. He looked around. Almost everyone was here, where could he begin. A faint flicker of a memory as he saw Angela and Fareeha. When was that, again?_

 

_He didn’t much care what they were talking about. Just standing off to the side while Amari, Morrison and Reyes did their thing. There wasn’t much to pay attention to anyway, and he was only here because of Reyes. Not like there was anywhere else to go. Hell, it had only been a week since he ‘joined’ Overwatch._

_His eyes wandered the room and eventually found someone new standing in the doorway. A little girl, with dark skin and jet-black hair, who looked very much like Ms Amari. She was looking right at him, too. He couldn’t help but squint his eyes at her, pulling a frown. In response, she tilted her head to the side and put on a frown._

_After a moment, she smiled, and smugly mimed tipping a hat in his direction. Not one to disappoint, Jesse took the brim of his fabulous hat in one hand at tipped it in the fine maiden’s direction with a smile. He heard laughter in return._

_When it stopped, he pushed the brim of his hat up to see Doctor Ziegler, holding the girl by the shoulders and talking to her. After casting a very suspicious look at him, she led the girl away, talking all the while. He frowned._

 

_**Happy days be damned.** Where could he begin? Everything had fallen apart after Switzerland. The organisation was investigated and all its activities, including Blackwatch, became completely transparent. Everyone had lost the will to fight, now._

_The Petras Act was going to go forwards. There was nothing they could do any more._

_Jesse felt, in some way, responsible. Investigation had come to the conclusion that one of the members in the building at the time had planted the bombs, and that that member had to have planted them in a specific place. What the authorities didn’t know was that that place had been under Level 5 Security. And there were only a small selection of people he knew who had Level 5 Access._

_Jack Morrison wouldn’t have planted the bombs, never in a million years. Overwatch was just turning out how he had dreamed, the perfect group of heroes to help the world survive in harsh times. And being promoted had been his dream._

_Ana Amari was already dead. Shot by a sniper out on the field, never got in touch again. Everyone was wounded by this, of course - Ana had been a great group moral support, in one way or another. Fareeha was especially hurt, even though she hadn’t spent the greatest amount of time with her mother. She always wanted to live up to the name, to impress her mother and make her feel proud. To have her dreams shattered obviously hurt, and it brought everyone down too._

_The conclusion was obvious, in the end. It had to have been Gabriel Reyes that planted the bombs and set them off. He knew every base inside out; as Blackwatch, it was their job to. He could’ve easily found a weak point and brought explosives in. He could’ve easily…_

_Jesse should’ve noticed. Reyes definitely wanted the promotion as much as Jack, and it probably stung not to get it. To be officially stuck with Blackwatch as a proper subdivision. He’d been seething afterwards, sure, but it wasn’t clear how deep it had struck. There had been a certain darkness that settled over him, like a cloud. But it was Reyes, and that man was extremely hard to read._

_But he should’ve noticed. As they say, hindsight is 20/20. There was definitely a dip, but there hadn’t been any sort of rebound either. If the emotions and thoughts were stewing for that long, there should’ve bee something someone could do to fix it. To help. To stop this from happening. Someone should’ve noticed. **He should’ve noticed.**_

_Jesse loved Overwatch, but everything was falling down._

 

—

 

Another day, another mission. The new recruits weren’t quite cut out for this stuff yet, after all. Better to throw some experienced fighters out onto the field, especially with the tricky assignments. The dropships were a familiar comfort in the turbulent organisation. The way they flew, how they coped in weather, exactly the same as they used to be. And the minibar still had shit alcohol.

The familiar surroundings brought memories, good and bad. The bad ones would hurt again, for a while, and the good ones came with the reminder things would never be the same again. How could anyone be happy about that? And yet, this ride was full of banter and cheer, jitters about the mission. Everyone was ready, that’s for sure.

McCree, finishing his drink, sat back on the couch and let the conversation wash over him, closing his eyes.

“Roight, well, when we get back I’m cookin’!” Lena proclaimed loudly.

“Absolutely not!” Angela put in. _She was already frowning, finger pointed accusingly at Lena. “Fish and chips is most definitely not a healthy meal!”_

A loud laugh from Reinhardt. “I shall cook then!” _Angela turned on him quickly, about to say something, when Reyes butted in with a quick “you’ll end up cooking for the whole base. Not again.”_

There was a pause, as everyone realised the expected reply was not coming.

“Well,” McCree pushed himself up a little. “How ‘bout I cook?” he filled in his part of the conversation. _A silence, before Morrison asked “do you even cook, kid?”_

“Don’t bother, kid, let’s just get someone **else** to cook for us,” Soldier: 76 responded. And the conversation stopped.

 

The ship was finally landing, and McCree was psyching himself into the zone, ready to fight. Thoughts away. Focus on the gun, the enemy, shoot. Gun, enemy, shoot, gun, enemy, shoo-

“You ready?” A firm hand on his shoulder, and a question from Soldier: 76. A moment to think about it as the dropship door opened. Then a grin back.

“Yeah, old man. Ready.”

“Alright, kid. Let’s go.”

Running out, gun ready, once more into the fray. A grin across McCree’s - no, Jesse’s face as he thought,

_**If I close my eyes, it almost feels like nothing’s changed at all.** _

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to [ papabay ](http://papabay.tumblr.com) on tumblr for letting me use their adorable McCree and Pharah scene: [meeting the ingrate ft. Guardian Angel](http://papabay.tumblr.com/post/149457821457/meeting-the-ingrate-ft-guardian-angel-im-so)
> 
> Also, the "Jack thinks salt is a spice" thing comes from [Overwatch Emergency Communication Channel (I Swear, It's Emergency Only)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7324573/chapters/16637323) by ArcaneAdagio. It's fantastic, so definitely look at it.


End file.
